Aspire Unto Heaven
by Raven Sinead
Summary: If we do not learn from history, we are doomed to repeat it. She sees the look in his eyes, the fire and zeal of the human heart, the resilience of love. She knows all too well how it could damn him. She has made so many mistakes. Is it not time another can learn from them, before it is too late? Yes. Yes it is. Birthday prompt for Grace Kay. Rated T for strong language.


**Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to BioWare and EA. I own nothing.**

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _Hello again! So, a small introduction to the one shot you're about to read (which I thank you for). This is a belated…a_ _ **very**_ _belated birthday one-shot for my friend and fellow author, Grace Kay (formerly known as Drummerchick7). She requested a scene between James Vega and Doctor Chakwas, and said that I could make it about anything that I wanted. So, that's what I did, and I hope you, and she, enjoys the end result._

 _Bright Blessings,_

 _~Raven Sinead_

* * *

 **The Citadel**

"Stay with me you motherfucking _dumbass_ _**jarhead**_!"

The scream echoes in his ears. The voice is life itself, coursing through his veins like molten lava, like the heat of Tuchanka's sun. The voice is all that matters, even if it curses him. Even if it damns him to hell itself. There is no hell here. There is no distance and no damnation. This is perfection, bleeding out onto the slick, bright streets of the center of the galaxy.

He can feel her hand. It is inside him, inside his chest, covering his heart. It belongs there, he thinks, as he drifts closer and closer to oblivion. His goddess hovers above him, her face fading in and out in the blissful noir of shock. Somewhere his rational mind is screaming at him to listen. But somewhere is not his location.

He is watching the beauty above him, the radiant shining paragon of all he wishes to be and have and hold. His eyes open and her face is there again, above him, crowned with the winged helmet of the Valkyrie. Somewhere, in the false sky of this place, this waystation suspended in space, between the mortal realm and Valhalla, he sees his Valkyrie come for him. She extends another hand, but it is not to lead him into paradise. No.

The hand plunges into his chest and grabs hold of his heart. This is no metaphor. This is no shock-induced hallucination. This is real. This is gritty and horrible and he should be feeling it but he can't because her hand is lava and her voice is tungsten and he is powerless in the face of this. Her hand grips his heart and squeezes. He screams, and in his mind, it is a sonnet from the ancient days. It is a roar of passion given form, it is everything that dwells within the heart that she grasps, forcing it to pump blood with murderous squeezes of her fists.

Her hands are perfect, he thinks, drifting once more into the infinite deep. Her hands on his heart…her hands on his heart. It is as it is meant to be. His Valkyrie has come. Valhalla awaits. He sees the light, sharp and bright and pristine above him. He hears the clamor of voices, and he smiles. His hand reaches out, waiting for his Valkyrie to hand him a tankard of mead, so that he might toast his honorable death. His hand reaches out…

…and greets nothing.

* * *

"You should be in bed, Tori." He hears a muffled voice, well-remembered. Kind. Kind in a world that seems almost devoid of compassion, for all compassion has been eaten by fear. "You rushed him here with a bullet in your abdomen. No amount of medi-gel and pain suppressants can compensate for genuine rest."

"You ever gonna stop momming me, Karin?" He hears the siren song of his angel, his Valkyrie. His heart begins burning at the sound. "There's no rest to be had, not in this damn world. Simple bullet to the gut. Been hit worse. Been hurt worse."

"That notwithstanding," Karin sounds like the comfort of hot chocolate on a cold winter day, "if not for the modifications made to your body, you would have died. You managed to get James here and then collapsed in the waiting room from septic shock. In fact, your latest course of antibiotics is due to be administered. Your doctor will be looking for you."

"No, he won't." _Her_ voice is liquid silk, passionate and red like the colors worn by his ancestors. "I checked out, AMA. Don't need some preachy bastard sticking me with needles. I'll get all the lecturing and drugs I need on the Normandy, with you."

"You have to stop playing with your life, Tori." Karin counsels and, in his mind, James smiles. No one can stick it to Shepard like the ship's doc. No one else can go toe to toe with the greatest force in the galaxy. "There are others who value the air you breathe and worry for the life you lead. You may not suffer from your mistakes overmuch, my girl, but rest assured, others will."

"Is this about Vega?" Shepard's voice has that edge in it, the edge that Vega wishes he could put on his razor, because the shave would be deadly close. "That wasn't my mistake, Karin. That was solid Alenko fuckery right there. Siding with Udina even after what we've been through. What happened to James should smear Kaidan's conscience, not mine."

"I do believe Major Alenko is too busy being simultaneously furious and guilt-ridden to do anything but consume oxygen." Karin sniffs and James smiles again, because he knows the doc. A simple, slightly exaggerated sniff is as good as a straight up 'fuck you'. "And he might wish to consider abstaining from that, in my humble opinion."

"Well look at the teeth on you, Karin." Shepard comments. "Never thought a woman who took the Hippocratic Oath would be advising against breathing."

"I advocated a lack of oxygen for Udina as well, if you recall." There's a sly smile in the doctor's voice; he can hear it and it makes him happy. He wasn't the only one who despised the rat bastard councilor.

"Yeah, I remember." Tori's voice is heavy with fatigue. She took a bullet…not the bad one, though. He made sure that didn't happen. "Still hard to think that the only reason I survived that snafu was because of what the fucking people he worked for did to me."

"Life works in mysterious ways, but the universe has its purposes." Karin Chakwas is a woman of unshakeable faith.

Not faith like Ashley Williams had, but faith nonetheless. Karin didn't believe in God but she did…she did believe in _something_. James regrets not asking her. Maybe he will, when the burning in his chest eases. When the morphine wears off. When he finally makes sense of the hallucinations, of the Valkyrie holding his heart in her hands and mimicking the beat of it.

"Well, I have my purposes too." Tori Shepard's voice has that tungsten edge again. "And I can't be in bed whinging about a bullet that _was_ in my gut. If it's not in there anymore, then there's no need for me to act like it is. Take care of Jimmy for me?"

Vega cracks his eyes open. The world is all blurry, but that's the morphine…the morphine and something else. Whatever it is, it's nice. He knows his chest should be hurting, but there's only a dull ache around where the bullet hit. It's kinda a relief, actually. The world's slowed down. It's all fuzzy. Sometimes fuzzy is good.

"Where have I heard that before…a million times if once at all?" Karin's voice grows louder. She must be facing him now, not the door, talking to Shepard.

Tori, James thinks. Karin calls her Tori…because they've known each other for years. He wants to call her Tori. Sure, she allows him to call her Lola, and there's a certain intimacy there, but it's not the same as being able to wield her first name. He's seen Karin call her to heel with that name, hitting the 'r' like the snap of a whip breaking the sound barrier. He wonders what that would be like…if he could send shivers down her spine the way she sent shivers down his when her strong, cool voice echoed through the weapons bay and said "Vega". It was stupid, he knew. But that didn't stop it from being true.

"You can open your eyes now, lieutenant." Chakwas greets him, and he wonders how she always knows about her patients. When they are asleep or unconscious. When they are in pain. When they are injured deeper than just beneath the skin. "The sun you stare at is no longer here to blind you."

Is that the morphine, or does Karin actually talk like that, he wonders. He can understand the words, and thinks he knows what they mean, but he's not really sure of anything at the moment. He's not sure he understands what "the sun you stare at" means to him. From across the room, he hears a quiet chuckle.

"You are not that drugged, James, I assure you." He opens his eyes and sees the doc's smile. It's a good sign, that smile. It means he's gonna live. But there's a light in her wise blue eyes, and that light means he's gonna get a talking to. Normally, he can smile, laugh, flirt, and avoid this sort of thing. He can't do that today. Not stuck in bed with his chest on fire.

"Care to tell me what happened, doc?" James rasps, his vision clearing more and more with every moment. He can see the doctor of the SSV Normandy in stark detail.

"I will give you a brief overview." Chakwas replies, and James breathes easier. The doc doesn't coddle. She doesn't baby the soldiers under her care. She gives the answers they want, because she knows those answers are needed. "Councilor Udina has been working in secret with Cerberus for years. Things came to a head three days ago. Cerberus attempted an exfiltration after Udina promised them the lives of the salarian and asari councilors. Shepard tracked him down, and Kaidan Alenko stood against her. As usual, Tori attempted diplomacy, but Kaidan has hated her for years. He refused to listen, and fired. You took the bullet that would have killed her. What would have struck her between the eyes ripped your left ventricle apart. Tori took the second bullet, and Garrus Vakarian disarmed Alenko. It has been quite some time since I have seen a miracle, James Vega, but I firmly believe that your and Shepard's survival is one. She managed to remain conscious and aware enough to keep you alive with intracardiac massage until you were flown to Huerta."

Wait a minute, he thinks. Intracardiac massage? Isn't that where they stick a hand in your chest and squeeze your heart to keep the blood flowing?

His chest burns fiercer at the thought. The Normandy's commander claimed his heart long ago, but now she has touched it, in the most literal of senses. He wishes, now, that his memories were not so scattered, not so dominated by panic and pain. He wants, perverse, stubborn marine that he is, to recall that desperate, life-saving touch. He wants to know in the reality of his own mind, that he is worth that effort, worth that struggle. He would never doubt Karin Chakwas, but no words, no matter their origin, can compensate for the truth of memory.

"There was no time, nor the resources, to clone the organ." Chakwas continues her debriefing, and James listens. This is necessary, required information. "We were forced to replace your heart, Lieutenant Vega."

James' world crashes down around his ears. He closes his eyes and watches all of his dreams flash, fall, and die. He knows too many soldiers whose systems have rejected artificial organs…they were able to live, thanks to augmentation surgeries and medications, but they didn't return to active duty. They got benched. The lucky ones stayed in the Alliance, but they rode a desk for the rest of their career. For James, the very idea is worse than death. The life he lives is the only one he has _ever_ wanted to live. He wants to kick the Reaper's asses, join the N7 program, and be a warrior _worthy_ of fighting beside Shepard, not just assigned to her ship. He wants to be a lifer, like Hackett, Anderson, and Shepard.

This can't be happening, he panics in the confines of his consciousness.

"Do calm yourself, James." Chakwas' voice breaks through the fear, the suffocation he feels thickening his throat. "While the organ in your chest is, indeed, artificial, you will not reject it."

"No disrespect, doc," He rasps, "but you said it's only been three days. You can't know that yet."

"Yes, I can." She counters with a confident smile. "Because of your service on the Normandy. When Cerberus…" the doc's lips and eyes tighten, "…rebuilt…Victoria, her blood type was changed. She is now O negative, the universal donor for humans. Her body and vital organs are a mixture of organic, synthetic, and mechanical parts. There are nanites in her bloodstream that maintain the mechanical components, and that ensure, on a cellular level, that her body does not reject them. The nanites are marvelous machines, self-replicating at the same level and with the same accuracy as human cells. I apologize if the receiving of transfusions is against a tenet of whatever faith you might claim, but I took what measures were necessary to save your life. With the nanites in your bloodstream, your body will not reject your new heart."

It doesn't happen often, but it's happened now. James is speechless. Not only did Shepard keep him alive, her blood made certain he would stay that way, _and_ return to the field, soon. He looks for words, but cannot find them. It's all too much, too soon, a sensory overload that he tries to sort through and analyze, but can't. She had her hand on his broken heart. She gave him her blood to keep him alive. He wants to repay her; _knows_ he can repay her, but doesn't know if she'll accept it. Hell, he doesn't know if _he'll_ accept it. He has a different heart now. What if that changes him? What if the artificial organ pumping his blood is more than and _deeper_ than a physical change?

"I think that's enough for now, James." Karin inserts a syringe into his IV line. He reaches up and wraps his hand around her arm, a marine's mute protest. She smiles and pats his callused, scarred, monster of a hand with her own, weathered, life-saving one. "Tori has assured me that the Normandy will not leave without you.

James, his fears allayed, removes his hand, allows the injection, and lets the pain relief take him into sleep.

* * *

He'd never been able to help it. All his life, James Vega had one dream: to be a marine in the Systems Alliance. To travel space, see new worlds, and protect his race and others from the enemies and dangers found in the dark corners of the galaxy. He began to train early, even as a kid. He honed his body and his physique, and drilled into himself the habit of rising before the sun. That habit carried forward into his military career. He had a preternatural sense of time. No matter the planet, no matter the star system or solar system, his body knew when the sun would rise, and awakened before it.

Thus, now, he awakens in the false night of the Citadel, and watches dawn arrive through the window of his hospital room. He realizes, almost immediately, that he feels no pain. The fire that burned in his chest yesterday no longer exists. He uses the controls to raise his bed, so that he can sit up instead of lying prone like an invalid. Once sitting, he peers under the gown, anticipating the worst.

He stares dumbly at the wound, sealed by medi-gel after surgery. He's seen the stuff work before. Usually, even a few days after, the patched skin is the angry, vicious red of brand new scar tissue. The bullet wound, turned into the long laceration of an open heart surgery, is the faded pink of an old injury. He won't even have to ask. He knows this has something to do with Shepard's blood, with the nanites that the doc mentioned. He shakes his head in awe.

No wonder Lola can walk away from almost anything with nothing but scratches, he thinks. Cerberus turned her body into what her mind and heart already were…indestructible and impenetrable.

He's jarred from his thoughts by a smell so familiar, yet so rare. His mouth waters and his eyes roam around the room. Of course, nothing in the stale, sterile environment would smell like _that_. Is he going crazy? Did he hit his head too hard when he fell after getting shot? Where the _fuck_ was that smell coming from?

So engrossed with finding the source of the aroma, he starts when he hears a knock at his door. He waits for the pain that doesn't come, and marvels again at the rapidity of his healing. He makes sure he's decent, which reminds him of how much he hates hospitals. It's not the feeling weak or vulnerable that gets to him. It's the goddamn backless gown. It's indecent, and an affront to all manner of dignity.

Once everything is in order, he calls. "Come in."

The door slides open and the aroma that tempts him, the scent of heaven's ambrosia, begins a full frontal assault on his senses. Doctor Chakwas enters the room, holding a tray, which bears a plate heaped with a mound of fluffy, golden scrambled eggs. Next to the eggs is what holds his attention and dominates his senses. He can barely believe it.

"Is that…" He points, speechless for the second time in as many days.

"Bacon." Chakwas answers, smiling. "Ten pieces of deep fried, non-synthetic bacon, six scrambled eggs with cheese, and the last of my reserves of Earth-grown coffee."

"Am I dreamin'?" James asks, dumbfounded. He hasn't had legitimate, _real_ bacon in _years_. Not since he was a little kid on his grandad's farm. "Where…where the hell did you score real bacon, doc?"

Chakwas hands him the tray of all that is good, holy, and sacrosanct. Her kind, blue eyes are shining as she hands him a note. "The breakfast was delivered with this missive, and the order to bring it to you straight away. I delayed in order to make coffee." She lifts a cup of her own and smiles at him. "However, I was told not to let you eat until you read the letter."

Real paper? James takes the note, stunned by the feel of it. Who even uses this shit anymore?

He unfolds the note and reads the slanted, slapadash scrawl:

 _Jimmy, I need you on deck. Eat the damn bacon and report to the Normandy. That's an order, soldier. ~Lola._

James stares at the bacon. He wonders how she remembered that conversation…it was _months_ ago. He recalls talking to Shepard during a sparring session…they discussed what they'd eat as a victory dinner after the Reapers were done with. He'd said "a shit-ton of bacon and eggs." Shepard remembered. All the stress, all the pain, all the fighting, all the losses, and she _still_ remembers what his favorite meal is.

Never one to waste a meal, James tucks in with enthusiasm. The bacon is perfect; crisp, salty, melting in his mouth. It is only respect for Chakwas that keeps him from groaning in absurd pleasure with every bite. He wants to savor the moment, the textures, the tastes, but he is ravenous. He wants to eat and return to the Normandy and get back to the war, back to what is most important. He has his orders, after all. Old school, on paper. He looks at the note, knowing where he'll keep it…the inner pocket of his fatigues, against the heart that she saved. To someone else, that note might be nothing. To him, it means everything. Shepard cares. Shepard remembers. Maybe she even…

"Stop right there, lieutenant." Chakwas orders and James looks up, confused. He isn't going anywhere. What is it he needs to stop?

"Uh…doc…" James looks around the room, "…there another LT around here?"

"No." Chakwas shakes her head. "Unless, of course, I am now giving you the order I wish a wiser person had given me when I held your rank." She pauses, but before James can ask, she answers. "Which I am."

"Not that I think you're losin' your touch, doc, but…" James shrugs his muscled shoulders, "…you're not making any sense, and I'm not going anywhere."

"Physically, no." Karin agrees with him. "But I can see your mind moving and I know that your heart, even new and not made of flesh, feels as it did before a bullet shredded through it. You have feelings for the commander."

James wants to lie. He wants to shake his head and deny that Karin's words are the simplest, absolute truth. He wants to posture and pretend and present the implacable façade of an Alliance marine. But…Karin Chakas has never lied to him, even in the dark moments. She's never led him astray, and she's never run her mouth. Everyone listens when Doctor Karin Chakwas speaks, because she measures her words with care.

"Guess it's not that hard to see." He mumbles before fear grips his heart and shuts him up. "Are you gonna report it?" He asks, afraid. "'Cause…"

"No, James." Karin smiles. "You've done nothing unprofessional or untoward. Regulations are in place for a reason, but war, especially war on a galactic scale, turns everything once black and white into murky, shadowy shades. I am not going to report you, nor lecture you, nor mock you. I simply wish, Lieutenant Vega, to _warn_ you."

James sits there, stunned, the residual, exquisite taste of bacon fading into bewilderment. He and the doc have talked, of course, but he can't recall a time when they _talked_. However, he knows Karin well enough to tell when she is serious, and right now, she is. Trauma surgery serious.

"Huh?" The sub-eloquent question passes his lips before he can think of a coherent word.

Karin sits at the edge of his bed and makes unflinching eye contact with him. He can't say that the blue of her eyes is cold, but it is most definitely _not_ warm. Whatever she is going to say, James knows he needs to listen. And remember.

"It takes a particular, peculiar madness to love a soldier." Karin states, and James nods. Anyone who might fall for him would have to be crazy. "However, it requires something deeper than madness and more despondent than insanity to love a warrior."

What's the difference, James wonders. Isn't warrior just an older word for soldier? Karin isn't making sense. He feels like he does when he overhears the doc talking medical terms with her team. Out of the loop. Sometimes, even stupid.

"Can you translate that into marine, doc?" He asks, hoping for a smile, a nod, any reaction at all. Karin's expression doesn't change, and James sobers. He's afraid of what she might say and, worse, what it might mean.

"I suppose some context might be necessary." Karin murmurs, and Vega nods. He's certain now, that, whatever she needs to tell him, he probably needs to know. "When I was a lieutenant, I served with another of my rank…Lieutenant Hannah Shepard. She was the ship's executive officer, and I worked in the med-bay. During our years of service, Hannah and I became fast friends. I was her maid of honor when she married John. I was the shoulder on which she wept when he died. I was the doctor who delivered Victoria Shepard into the world. Through it all, I never realized…I never realized that, over the time, I'd fallen in love with Hannah. She is such a strong, capable woman, James. I watched her defy Alliance regulations in order to remain on board ship during her pregnancy…she demanded a waiver for Tori that allowed her daughter to live on an active military vessel. She schooled your commander herself when her shift was done. She took all the time she could to play with Tori and explain the mysteries of brutality and beauty. When Hannah could not watch after her, I did. I distracted Tori from her worry when Hannah was on an away mission. What I refused to realize until it was too late, was that I was also distracting _myself_ from that same worry."

Karin pauses in her telling and James sits there, stunned. In his mind, he doesn't mean to be crude, but the thoughts in his head spill out of his mouth before he can stop them.

"You had the hots for Lola's mom?" He blurts out, then mentally slaps himself across the face. Until Karin smiles. When she smiles, he knows all is forgiven.

"Translated into marine?" She teases him. "Yes. My god, I carried a torch for that woman. I loved her child as though she were my very own. And…and I made a mistake, James. I made the mistake of believing that Hannah might feel for me what I felt for her. When she promoted to captain, the _youngest_ captain in Alliance history, I was devastated. I knew they would give her a ship. They did, and when she and Tori left my life, it hurt like no pain I've ever known. I missed Hannah, and the missing felt like a knife in my heart. We spoke on comms and sent messages to each other, but it wasn't the same. One month after she assumed command of her ship, I received transfer orders. Captain Hannah Shepard had requested me, by name, to be the chief medical officer in her med-bay. My heart rejoiced, and I left my old post for my new one, carrying the torch I had borne for years."

James remains fixated on Karin's eyes. He listens to the words with care and concentration, and in her gaze he watches the years unfold. Years of love and pain and fear, remorse, regret, and repression. He's seen the thousand-lightyear stare before: the eyes of soldiers who've survived too much, seen what no one should have to see, and done the unspeakable. In Karin's bright blue eyes, James sees all of that and more. He didn't know a place beyond that cold, blank space of pain existed. Now, he knows it does, and he shivers at the thought of what wearing that expression someday might mean.

"What happened?" He dares to ask.

"I made the mistake of opening my mouth." Chakwas replies. "One night, over a glass of Serrice Ice Brandy…it was Hannah's favorite, you know. Now, it's mine. Oh, the crosses nostalgia makes us bear." Karin pauses, looking into yesteryear, remembering things that were, and that could not be again. "I made the mistake of loving a woman who could not give her heart to another, for she had sworn it to space, battle, glory, and honor. That is the difference between a warrior and a soldier, James. A soldier serves, and there are limits to servitude. A warrior devotes themselves, and devotion…" Her voice cracks and her eyes glisten with tears unshed. "…devotion knows no boundaries. Hannah could not love me…she could not even love John or Tori…not fully. Not properly. The Alliance owned her first, and retained, perhaps, the purest part of her heart. That is why I wish to warn you. Victoria Shepard _is_ her mother's daughter. She is a _warrior_. She took her first breath aboard a military vessel, and I've no doubt she will draw her last breath on the same. She may never…never be able to grant you what you wish, for she herself does not possess the full measure of her own heart. It is in her blood."

James stares at Karin, in shock. The woman who is always so together, serene, and dependable is…is broken-hearted. He sees now that the physician's wisdom does not just come from her age, or her profession, but from her pain. He has always respected Karin Chakwas, always admired her. It frightens him now, to see her weak and vulnerable. Laid low by something as strong and empowering as love.

But she must have made a mistake, he thinks. She couldn't have loved Hannah the way he loved Victoria. There wasn't a galactic conflict then, right? They didn't think every moment might be their last. They weren't trying to live a lifetime inside every day.

James shakes his head. He knows his own wishful thinking when it happens. The doc is the definition of tenacity. He's seen her in action, keeping on, saving lives that other Alliance physicians would have given up on. She speaks about the torch she carried in past tense, but James wonders if, somewhere hidden, that flame still burns. Like most questions, his answers itself. Karin opens her omni-tool and brings up a memory. She shows the picture to James.

"Damn." He exhales on a low whistle.

The red-blooded man in him knows that, if he'd been in Hannah Shepard's position, he wouldn't have said no. He would have fallen for Karin hook, line, and sinker. The features, now more gaunt, refined and wise, are still as aristocratic and regal. Her smile is positively blinding. He looks into the eyes of a years-ago Karin Chakwas and sees the zeal and passion in them that he knows so well. Only, in the picture, the blue isn't muted and hardened by enduring years and years of loss in harsh circumstances. The grey, short hair he knows now is, in this stilled moment of her past, long, lustrous, and obsidian.

James eyes widen as he sees the woman that Karin stands next to. He thinks, for a moment, that it must be Victoria Shepard, misplaced in time, for the similarity is stunning. He trips over his mind until he sees the baby carefully cradled in Chakwas' arms.

Who knew Shep was a kid! James smiles and shakes his head. He can't wrap his head around the thought of his fierce, brave, battle-wearied commander ever being young and care-free. Even trying to picture it doesn't feel right.

"Those were better days." Karin says, her voice low and soft. "When Hannah and I were still friends. Before the night I kissed her and learned the awful truth. Hannah Shepard did not marry for love, but for curiosity. And, in her warrior's heart she realized…the love of heart to heart was not for her. That _I_ was not for her. After that night, Captain Shepard cut the orders to transfer me to another ship. She told me it would be easier that way. When she said those words, I knew that she did not even comprehend the notion of love. I would have preferred to be with her, to be able to see her, even if she would give me nothing more than friendship. But, that was not to be."

"What are you tellin' me, doc?" James asks, still slightly confused. "That Shepard and her mother are the same? That my commander doesn't know how to love? Don't know if you've seen her on the field, but she's the most dedicated, humane officer I've ever served under. If that's not love, or doesn't come from love, then there must be a lot about the world that I still don't understand."

"Such mysteries as an artificial heart still aching with emotion?" Karin asks, and James' eyes shoot to hers, wondering how she could read his mind. His eyes fall down to the bed.

"Yeah." He mumbles. "'Bout that."

A warm, comforting hand rests on his shoulder, but James doesn't feel the least bit comforted. Everything around him is cold, and he hates it. He doesn't want to feel this desolate ache. He doesn't want Karin's warning to be true, but something…something about the way Tori Shepard is never fully _present_ when she speaks to him is…concerning.

Her smile never reaches her eyes, James recalls every detail he can, no matter how inconsequential it might be. He thinks of the way she plans each mission herself, the detailed briefs that govern almost every step the crew takes on the battlefield. He closes his eyes and sees the sharp smile ever-present on her lips during every firefight, the way in which her small speeches stir the soul and drive each and every member of the crew to give their all. He can see it now, in his mind's eye…the only time that smile reaches her wicked green eyes is…is when they are under heavy fire. Not any other time, even when they have a moment to rest and let off steam. She's only happy when she's fighting.

He does not want this to be true. He does not wish to think that his life, his first, his truest, perhaps even his best love, are all for nothing. He does not understand how what Karin says can be true. But, in his private mind, in the theater of his memories, he cannot dispute it. No matter how much he wants to. And he does. So very badly. However, he knows already what he will do. Because he doesn't have a choice. Perhaps he never has.

"I can't…I can't not try." He admits, hoping Karin will think no less of him for it. "I've gotta find out, doc."

"Trust me, James." Karin's eyes are filled with sorrow. "I understand. More than you might possibly know. And I wish you better fortune than ever I had."

James sighs and looks out of the window for a long time. After a moment, he looks back at the doctor. She saved his physical heart. Now, she is trying to save his spiritual, mental, and emotional heart. But he still has to know. He still has to try. He's never loved anyone this much…he has to attempt. Even if it breaks him. Even if it _kills_ him.

"But…what do I do…what do I do if…if it's like you said?" He asks, knowing now that he risks becoming like Karin, lost and adrift for years, unable to get her heart back from the woman who holds it and does not care.

"You make it through the best you can." Karin tells him. "You let your heart ache, and bleed, and even the realization that what you desire may never come to pass will not stop you from continuing to love. We have been this way for centuries, back to the time when we stood on a single planet where the continents were one, and looked up at the stars. But even now, when we sail through space, what was true then rings truer now. There are those who stand so far away that those who love them cannot reach far enough or high enough..." Karin's eyes fill with tears that slip down her weathered cheeks. "In those times, longing for those hearts...man can but aspire unto heaven."

James meditates on the words, embracing the metaphor's meaning and, perhaps, in time, their truth. It doesn't matter though. She held his heart and kept him alive. That means something. He knows it does…he's just not sure what it means to _her_. His Valkyrie. His love. His heaven.

Will he have to pay the price of loving a warrior, he wonders. His omni-tool beeps and he pulls up the screen, giving the paperwork a cursory glance. With a nod from Chakwas, approving it, James signs his discharge papers. She hands him a fresh uniform, leaves the room, and the lieutenant dresses, tucking the handwritten note from Lola into the pocket against his heart. He rests his hand there, listening to his heart beat. He wonders again, for what will not be the last time, if he will be the man who does more than aspire. If he will be the man who reaches out and is greeted by what he longs for.

Only time will tell, he realizes. Only time will tell.


End file.
